‘Now, I suppose, they’re going to charge Derek with something or other!’
Stephens blushed and mumbled confusedly, but she didn’t wait to hear his reply.
Gently rapidly explained the situation to Vincent; he didn’t want to be delayed when the ambulance set off. In the name of mercy he had refrained from stopping Hansom using the morphia, but there were crucial questions of which he wanted the answers from Johnson. He grabbed one of the attendants.
‘They’re not to dope him before I’ve talked to him… you’ve seen that label — he shouldn’t need any more for a bit.’
The attendant shrugged. ‘I can’t promise you anything, sir. You’ll have to come to the hospital and talk to them there.’
This time he drove himself, in Stephens’s Wolseley. Hansom, who hadn’t been saying much, followed erratically in their rear. Stephens was also rather quiet, but there was nothing surprising in that: his exploit in stopping Johnson must have given him plenty to think about.
‘That was a damn silly thing to do…!’
‘Yes, sir.’ Stephens drooped his head. Gently had no need to specify the subject of his remark.
‘There’ll be times enough to play the hero without your cooking any up — suppose the fellow had got away, how far do you think he could have gone?’
‘Well, sir, considering his known abilities-’
‘Considering my foot! He might have got to the Continent, or perhaps to Eire. He’s without professional contacts, and he was tagging a woman along with him — and we could have followed him with radar — maybe chivvied him down with fighters.
‘Yet you go and risk your neck in a bit of Dick Barton foolery — risked the life of the girl, too, not to mention the ratepayers’ property!’
‘I didn’t mean to smash him, sir.’
‘What the devil else could you have done?’
‘I just wanted to block his take-off… then… well, it all happened so fast.’
‘Huh!’ Gently’s grunt was in the Hansom tradition, but he could easily visualize what had taken place. Petrified by the oncoming plane, Stephens had simply hung on and prayed: his reflexes had been paralysed by the speed of what had happened. With his foot hard down he had rushed fascinated towards disaster…
‘You’re lucky that Johnson didn’t lose his head, too.’
‘Yes, sir, I realize that. I think he was expecting me to pull out.’
‘And those shots were at your tyres?’
‘Yes, sir. They weren’t at me. He must have guessed what I intended to do, and tried to put my car out of action.’
From the way his young colleague spoke it was apparent that Johnson had won an admirer. The estate agent was no longer a middle-aged curio, a fossilized relic of some pre-atomic war. He had displayed his ‘known abilities’ in a way that was unforgettable, and Stephens, who had found himself wanting, was a little guiltily impressed.
‘Anyway, it took guts…’ Gently purposely left that vague; but he noticed that Stephens tilted his chin up and stole a glance towards his senior.
‘Car ex-two calling car ex-seven…’
In his driving mirror he could see Hansom, the microphone in his hand.
‘What do you know about Johnson… are we going to make the pinch?’
Coming from Hansom, this surely had to be admiration too!
‘Car ex-seven calling car ex-two… considering all the circumstances, what do you recommend?’
‘Calling car ex-seven… you’d better pinch him, I suppose, though if the evidence wasn’t so one-track… damnation, you’ve got to pinch him!’
Even Hansom had his moments of intuition, it seemed, when the hard grain of logic met the steel edge of conviction. They were few and they were tardy, but he was not completely without them: against his settled inclination, he occasionally had a hunch…
‘Calling car ex-seven… he pulled that kite over deliberately. I had a look at the runway — it’s got a good surface just there.’
‘Calling car ex-two… he’d be dead if he hadn’t.’
‘Calling car ex-seven… yeah, I see your point.’
Gently turned his head, concealing his smile from Stephens. The two of them were ganging up in their desire to whitewash Johnson! And in both cases it seemed to be his cool head that impressed them, though logically it was a factor which should stand in his disfavour. What was the process by which the logical suddenly collapsed and committed suicide — what was the mechanism of secret judgement which could destroy the pretensions of thought?
He paused, seeming once again on the threshold of revelation, for wasn’t it thus that he always proceeded, checking logic by that inner judgement? It was the product, he suddenly saw, of his continuous stream of observation, a perpetual record of fact too huge and complete to be fully conscious. And so, detached from that stream, he had found his desk-work intolerable, he had been set to make bricks with only the vestiges of straw. For he was not a thinking man, but an artist pursuing a truth: in a way Mallows had been right. Gently was a sham as a policeman.
‘Car ex-seven calling car ex-two…’
What had he been going to say to Hansom? It had gone clean out of his head…
They were in Fosterham by nine, travelling this time less sensationally. The ambulance clanged them through the town and into the yard of the red-brick hospital. Gently was out of the Wolseley directly, pushing through the swing doors labelled RECEPTION. Beyond them he found an aseptic-looking hall in which were mingled the smells of ether and floor polish.
‘Superintendent Gently, CID… I’d like to speak to the doctor in charge of Casualties.’
‘The doctor is busy just now, I’m afraid. If you’ll wait in the office I’ll tell him you’re here.’
She was a hard-eyed ward sister who quizzed Gently with disapproval; she went, nevertheless, to execute the errand. Gently stood in the doorway of the office and watched the attendants unload Johnson — he was conscious, though drowsy, and tried to wink as he was carried past. Anne Butters had been crying, but was not crying now. She walked with one hand on the stretcher, very erect, her chin in the air.
As they approached the door to Casualties they met the doctor coming out — a tall, youngish-looking man, who gave an exclamation of surprise.
‘Anne! Well, I’m blowed! What on earth are you doing here?’
Quickly she tugged on his arm, jerking her head towards Gently. It was all over in a moment: with a significant nod, he hustled them through. Gently, racing to push in after them, found his passage barred by the ward sister.
‘I’m sorry, Superintendent, but you can’t come in here.’
‘It’s extremely important that I speak to the doctor!’
‘He knows you are here and he will see you in a minute. As usual on Sundays, we are having a busy time.’
Short of brushing her aside physically, there was nothing that he could do about it. He stood glaring impotently at the door which even policemen couldn’t open. In a couple of minutes the doctor came out again, but those minutes had done the damage; his gaunt young face was earnestly determined, and he put finality into his tone:
‘There is very little use in your waiting, Superintendent. I cannot permit the patient Johnson to be seen again today.’
‘Are his injuries so serious?’
‘That we’ll know when we’ve seen the X-ray. I assure you there’s no point in your waiting any longer.’
‘And that applies to Miss Butters?’
‘She is suffering from delayed shock.’
‘Couldn’t it be delayed a little longer?’
‘I will not take that suggestion seriously…’
Looking indignant, the doctor turned to go back into Casualties, but he was prevented by a hand placed firmly on his arm.
